Cinderella: The SpiffiedUp Version
by Tony74
Summary: What would happen if "Cinderella" were improved just a tad? For starters, Prince Charming would be a rapper, and the glass slipper would be a Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner...


Note: If ever this becomes a movie, I want Hilary Duff to star as Cindy-Isabella, Julia Roberts or Cher as the fairy godmother, Eminem as Prince, and Elvis as himself. :D

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the fairy tale Cinderella. Nor do I own Shrek®, "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo" (it was from Disney's animated Cinderella movie), Nike®, Febreze Ocean Spray®, Elvis Presley, J. Lo, Beyoncé, Cindy-Lou Who, Courtney Love, Julia Roberts, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Hilary Duff, Lindsay Lohan, Marie Antoinette, Eminem, the song "My Band" by D12, McDonald's, _"That's all, Folks!"_ (it's from Bugs Bunny®), or anything else that you recognise. I don't even own the phrase, "Ahh! My eye!" General rule of thumb for names: If they're marked with ™ they're mine; if marked with ® they're not.

I do own the bartender, the Fairy Godmother Magical Miracle™, The Palace, the orange limo, and the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince. I also partially own (sort of) the phrase, "Jelly! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

**Special thanks to**: My cousin and sister (no names here, but you know who you are), for helping with ideas and cookies. My parents, for putting up with me while I wrote this at midnight the day before it was due as a school assignment. My English teacher Mrs. D., for assigning it in the first place, in the sincere hopes that she will someday learn to spell and use proper grammar. The poor little first-grader to whom I had to read this, because it probably confused her out of her mind. The guy who was sitting beside me when I was planning this, for taking my continual random outbursts of "I have an idea!" reasonably well; i.e. with only a few hundred "You. Are. Insane," looks. Shrek®, for lending some of its strangeness to this. And all those people who update their fics more than once every two weeks, because while they do scare me slightly, they also put me on many guilt trips about only updating once every six months (if that).

(Author's Note: Anyone who reviews will receive a personal reply. These will all be posted in my bio.)

* * *

Cinderella – The Spiffied-Up Version

_"These chicks don't even know the name of my band, but they're all on me like they want to hold hands..."_

From _My Band_, by D12

* * *

Twice upon a time, there lived one of those dysfunctional families. The spoiled little girl was ungrateful and rude to her gracious, beautiful, angelic stepmother and stepsisters. 

Well, maybe they weren't _completely_ gracious, beautiful, and angelic, but hey, who's perfect?

Okay…so they were just a _bit_ bitter about being fat and ugly and needing a heck of a lot of plastic surgery before they looked beautiful. Anyway, the stepmother and stepsisters were also, uh, very good at delegating tasks. Of course, the other daughter, being both bratty and terrible at delegating, deserved to do all the work. So she did the chores, whining non-stop.

Eventually, the incredibly patient stepmother and stepsisters got sick of her complaining – but then, who wouldn't? They decided they deserved a night out by themselves. Coincidentally, there was this once-in-a-lifetime-wouldn't-miss-for-the-world opening of this new nightclub called The Palace (convenient, eh?), where the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince would be making an appearance. So the stepmother and stepsisters cruelly ordered – I mean, uh, kindly hinted to the brat that she clean up the house as a surprise before they got back. The infallibly wise stepmother knew some good honest work would do the spoiled girl a lot of good.

Hey! Who's telling this story? Shut up and listen.

But of course, the girl was lazy and didn't bother doing anything. Instead she just wallowed in self-pity and waited for a Fairy Godmother Magical Miracle™ to clean the house; get her a beautiful and ridiculously expensive dress to wear; and somehow manage to get her to The Palace so she could possibly see the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince.

Unfortunately, the fairy godmother was an imbecile afraid to ever say "no" to her goddaughter, for fear of being sued for emotional scarring and being charged with child abuse before you could say, "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo."

So the fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a fluorescent orange limo (not only was she foolish; she also had disgusting taste) to console the undeserving cry-baby. The undeserving cry-baby in question did _not _thank her godmother – instead, she demanded a beautiful, ridiculously expensive dress to wear. Her fairy godmother groaned but obeyed, visions of lawsuits dancing in her head. She was beginning to think she was spoiling the girl, so to appease her conscience she made the dress rather ugly. (However, she resisted the urge to pull the old "Invisibility" trick her cousins had played on some emperor. She was far more afraid of her goddaughter being charged with gross indecency than of her being spoiled.)

"I want fancy shoes!" the brat yelled. Her fairy godmother waved her wand and suddenly there was a pair of Size-9 runners on the undeserving, whiny girl's feet. (They had the brand name Nike®, but they were actually counterfeit. This is very important.)

* * *

"Are you having a good time, girls?" the gracious, wise, angelic, beautiful, and generally perfect stepmother asked her equally gracious, wise, angelic, beautiful, and generally perfect daughters. 

"Of course!" the daughters said. "How could we not?"

* * *

The last thing the ungrateful brat said to her godmother before leaving was, "And don't forget, the whole house has to be cleaned before I get home!" Then she was off to The Palace in the fluorescent orange limo, wearing her not-so-beautiful-but-still-ridiculously-expensive dress. The fairy godmother sighed, and then waved her wand. POOF! The house was sparkling clean, every surface was spotless, and the whole place smelled like Febreze Ocean Spray®. 

And nope, that is not an example of shameless product placement, not at all.

* * *

Elvis Presley, the bouncer at The Palace, was having a busy night. The club was swarming like a beehive full of hormonally charged bees. It would be as easy as taking candy from a (cooperative) baby to win the bet he had made with the bartender. He was supposed to find the most terribly dressed girl and hook her up with the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince. Suddenly, a hideous, bright orange limo pulled up. Elvis smirked. Anyone who came in an ugly orange limo would have to be badly dressed. And of course he, Elvis Presley, was the absolute best matchmaker in the world, so he could surely hook her up with the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince. 

Elvis put on his most charming smile (or so he thought) and hurried forward to escort the girl from the limo.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, er, limo, the brat was trying to think of a hip, happening name for herself. She had briefly considered K. Lo and Deyoncé. Now she was pondering: Which is cooler, Cindy-Lou Who or Courtney-Julia-Britney-Christina-Hilary-Lindsay-MarieAntoinette-Isabella? That is the question...

* * *

"Hello, darling," Elvis simpered. The girl stared blankly at him. _Gee, how talkative. _He tried again. "May I escort you into the club?"

* * *

The brat had decided to compromise between Cindy-Lou Who and Courtney-Julia-Britney-Christina-Hilary-Lindsay-MarieAntoinette-Isabella and thus called herself Cindy-Isabella. The guy with the weird hair was offering to walk her into the club. "Oh, well, okay, but then you have to let me meet the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince." 

The guy smiled at her. "Sure. Hey, what's your name?"

"Cindybella," she blurted out.

The guy frowned, obviously discombobulated. "Cinderella, did you say?" Before she had a chance to indignantly correct him, he was pointing her towards the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince. "That's him there. That's the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince!"

Cindy-Isabella squealed, causing everyone near her to wince in pain and cover their ears. "Omigosh! It's the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince!"

And then, the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince _looked_ straight at her! Omigosh! Cindy-Isabella nearly fainted. Elvis caught her, but she shrieked, "Let go of me!" and kicked him.

Elvis winced and touched the newly forming, Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner-shaped bruise on his nose. Then he picked up a certain Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner from the floor.

* * *

Cindy-Isabella pushed and kicked her way over to the amazingly handsome, single... (well, you know the rest) Prince. "Oh, Prince, will you dance with me?" She grabbed his hands and kicked everyone who had the misfortune to be in the way. Unfortunately, in the process she accidentally kicked Prince, who carefully detached himself and backed away. 

As if it were an omen, Cindy-Isabella's foot swelled up.

* * *

Marshall "Prince" Charming, a.k.a. the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince, was bored with The Palace, as well as annoyed and slightly freaked out by the crazy girl who had just tried to dance with him. "These chicks don't even (bleep)in' know how to dance," he complained to his bodyguards, "but they're all tryin' just to come hold my hand." 

"Hey, that would make a good song..."

* * *

Elvis Presley stared at the Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner in his hand. It would certainly be good karma to return the shoe. "Hey, Cinderella, your shoe-" 

Cindy-Isabella grabbed the shoe and whacked poor Elvis on the nose with it. Elvis winced and considered changing jobs. _I hear McDonald's pays pretty decently, and there's less chance of abuse..._

The bartender came up to Elvis and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you lost the bet. You know what that means!" The bartender grabbed the nearest object that could possibly be used as a weapon, which just so happened to be Cindy-Isabella's Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner.

The bartender swung the Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner towards Elvis, who ducked, but too late. Ouch.

For the third time that night, Elvis winced. His nose was swelling up painfully. "Thag you," he mumbled, "thag you very much." He stalked out the door, already on his way to finding a new job.

"Elvis has left the building!" announced the bartender.

* * *

Prince walked up to Cindy-Isabella, who squealed, "Omigosh! Prince, will you marry me?" 

"No," Prince replied. He grabbed the Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner and whacked Cindy-Isabella on the head.

There was now a dent in the runner. Of course, this was entirely due to the fact that it was a lousy counterfeit rather than an authentic Nike®.

Cindy-Isabella grabbed her Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner back. Prince left before she could hit him with it.

Cindy-Isabella wondered why her Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner would no longer fit. She then decided it wasn't worth keeping and chucked it at a random person, who ducked and threw a tub of sherbet in self-defense, which hit the window.

* * *

At approximately the same time Cindy-Isabella's Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner was thrown, Prince accidentally bumped into one of Cindy-Isabella's beautiful, angelic, and generally perfect stepsisters. 

"Oh! I'm sorry!" he said.

_The random person ducked the Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runner..._

"Don't mention it," the girl giggled.

_The random person threw the tub of sherbet in self-defense..._

"Will you marry me?" asked Prince, dropping onto one knee.

_The sweet, sticky sherbet sailed swiftly through the air..._

"Okay!" The girl fluttered her lashes at him.

_The sherbet was just about to come in contact with the window... _

And just as the girl's perfect mother was about to express her congratulations...

_...the sherbet struck the window and exploded, showering everyone in the vicinity._

"Eew, it's all sticky..."

"Ahh! My eye!"

"Does this mean we'll have bad luck in our marriage?"

And the moral of the story is: Jelly! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh... The end.

No! Stop! Come back here! It's not the end! There're still the credits and sponsors!

Um, okay...

* * *

Credits: 

Written by me, produced by me, directed by me, based on an idea by me, and vaguely inspired by the fairy tale Cinderella.

(Alright, alright, a few other people also helped. They're listed in the "Special thanks to" section.)

* * *

Sponsors (actually, advertisements):

BELIEVE THE THEORIES!

SUPPORT THE CONSPIRACIES!

ELVIS IS STILL ALIVE!

Visit our website, www . gullible . com / elvis, for details.

* * *

THE PALACE

-the hottest new nightclub-

Grand Opening!

Special appearance by the amazingly handsome, single, rich, famous rapper Prince!

* * *

MCDONALD'S®

i'm loving it®

Now Hiring

* * *

The Fairy Godmothers Corporation™

Specialising in Size-9 counterfeit Nike® runners and hideous orange limos.

For a limited time only, Fairy Godmother Magical Miracles™ are half price!

* * *

Beware the knock-offs!

Only the genuine products are best!

BOYCOTT THE COUNTERFEITERS!

This has been a message by Nike®.

* * *

_"That's all, Folks!"_®

© LizBeth37 and Tony74, who are really the same person.


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